


Ideas (Oikawa Tooru)

by lunasparker



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasparker/pseuds/lunasparker
Summary: Oikawa Tooru had plenty of girlfriends. But he had never known someone like you. And it was scarring the love that briefly blossomed between you that was his fatal mistake. He was only ever in love with the idea of being loved. He could never love someone... until he met you. [Short Story]
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. his smile

You see him in the corridor and it's that smile that draws you in, lulls you like a siren scouting her victims, a pretty hauntingly beautiful creature who sits on her jagged rock and sings to her heart's content.

That smile is not made for you. It was not conjured into existence for you. It was for him and him only. He smiles as he walks down the corridor, and seems to share his smile with everyone, maybe even you.

But you watch from afar, head sunken into another book, as everyone received that smile. Everyone except you.

And as though he hears your thoughts, knows you like the back of his hand, he turns and that smile is projected towards you, and unwittingly you smile back as thought it was meant for you all along.

His smile twitches when he notices you smile, but somehow you get feeling it was not in a bad way. You shuffle past him, hoping to get to your next class, and you still feel the radiation of his smile as it brightens your day and lifts the heaviness of your drowsy heart.

─────

The next day, it's as though you still do not exist. You have this often. The wonderings of the pale monotony of life, of the question as to whether you, in all your atoms and thoughts and soul, exist, or are you simply a minuscule dot who cannot fathom the inner workings of the universe?

The teacher who is speaking to you cannot get her words through. It's as though her voice is meaningless against the misty void that has clouded your mind and plunged your life into monotony. After a few minutes, she understands this finally.

Her lips are pursed, forming a frustrated thin line. You cannot meet her eyes but you feel their sadness.

At last, you hear her voice. But it is long and boring and tired and it does not seem to dawn on you that she is speaking about your homework. Your mind is too preoccupied with the nightmare that left you reeling in terror the night before. The nightmare of non-existence, of no purpose. Of the experiences and concepts of life and death that you, a simple dot in billions, cannot and will not ever experience. You are inconvenient, meaningless in the way of things.

Does your path even have a happy ending? Where does your life go?

And then, you hear him. He's smiling again.

Your eyes flicker to the doorway where he stands, leaning coolly against the doorway. In his hands is his homework and on his face is that trademark smile, the one that makes your heart instantly swoon and you learn it is your downfall.

The teacher suddenly smiles too, as though his smile is contagious.

And then, without knowing why, your perpetually frown disappears and is replaced by the curving upwards of your lips.

He sees this too, winking at his infectious effect on others. You blink at his affection, raising your fingers to touch your cheeks which seem to burn with what you denoted mistakenly as hellish fury. No, your cheeks did not burn like the Satanic cultist's heart, or the bright fires of hell. They burned like the sun on the brightest day, wave after wave of warmth and love and satisfaction.

He hands the teacher the homework, his eyes overlooking the shambles of your own, the homework that is dull and tattered and meaningless. All because, homework did not seem convenient in the meaning of things. You had given up on your grades and your education. Life did not pertain it's purpose anymore the moment your own began to fall apart.

Your ears perk up, like a small cat, just as his mouth opens and he speaks. But then you lower your head once more, realising that even this boy, the smiling and beautiful one, could not reach you, could he?

Like the teacher, you cannot meet his eyes, but you know they are looking at you, in equal wonder and curiosity. _Who are you?_ He asks.

 _I don't know,_ you think.


	2. his eyes

The cafeteria is buzzing and you despise it. The noise is building up on each other, the sound of forks scraping plates and people laughing and machines working... everything felt unbearably too much. Whatever happened to silence?

You are sitting with your friends, but you often wonder if you can call them that. As you play with your food with deep misery, you hear them speak but like all others, their words do no seem to reach you, never mind concern you. You can't remember the last time you felt included, felt welcomed or relevant. It's as though you are the benign unmemorable character.

You look down at your food, which has altered altogether to reveal something inedible that makes your stomach churn.

You are not even the main character of your story.

You sigh at your prospects and look up once more.

This time, your eyes inevitably lock on him. He's in his sports kit, laughing with his friends. And then, he sees you.

You meet his eyes and you are in awe at them.

Those brown eyes are a million hues, so you wonder what the word "brown" even means. They are the forest and the autumnal leaves, the soil in summer and after the rains. How could you ever reduce something so spellbinding to one word, when the colours invite you to marvel in their simplicity.

In those earthy hues was his soul, not in they way of those cheesy romance novels, so obsessed with lust, but with the kind of beauty that expands a moment into a personal eternity, a heaven you wish to be a part of.

His eyes...

You could stare at them forever.

His gaze does not pass over you as you expected. His eyes do not wander but remain fixed on you, the girl who is sitting at a crowded table that she is somehow distanced from, her plate untouched yet mangled with boredom.

He does not admit it but the moment he looks at you, he can't help but wonder if you are different.

Are you?

Are you more than the minuscule dot you always perceived yourself to be?

You bite your lip, tearing your gaze from him.

Maybe.

───── 

It's the classroom where you finally interact. School was a large and misleading place, and it was the dissection of students into cliques and classes that had separated you for so long. You can't help but wonder if Fate is on your side this year, in your final year. The year that matters to many but not to you.

You sink into your seat, shuddering when the wind seeps through the open windows. You are unfortunate, but that was to be expected, to sit at the front of the class, forced to stare at the teacher and endure the wrath of education.

The teacher begins the lesson normally. In fact, everything falls into place. This year is no different to the last, you realise, and you wonder if that was good for you. Did you crave change?

Change came, however, in the face of him. He is in your classes this year. You wonder why. What happened to make him sink to your position?

Someone taps your shoulder and you turn, only to be faced with him.

He was sitting behind you and you didn't even realise, the droning of the teacher and the cloudiness of your mind had blocked out such things perceived to be inconvenient.

He smiles when he sees your startled eyes, cast alive by the light of the sun from outside, and he notices your body stiffen.

He is saying something in a low whisper and you realise it is to do with the lesson, whatever the teacher is droning about, history was it?

You cannot believe it. The embarrassment prompts the flushing of your cheeks and rosy red to be conjured up on your face. Your lips part and some words come out, revelling in the quietness of the room.

"What's your name?" He asks after you tell him about the classwork.

Again, your train of thought, the same thing that went about daily without change, comes to a crashing halt. It's as though he was walking on the tracks.

You choke out a response, a sheepish and nervous smile worn on your face. That smile is returned and his eyes glow at the sound of your voice.

"(your name)" You whisper before turning around, lowering your head to shakily and futilely force yourself to listen to the teacher.

He leans back in his chair, his brown eyes swirl in thought. He cannot help but feel a sinking guilty feeling because that name was unmemorable and unfamiliar to him. Yet... it was still something he was determined to turn into something unforgettable.


	3. love letters

When a week passes, you realise that you have long since been infatuated with him. Since the spring of first year, the moment you saw him walking through the school gate. But you remember now. Like a spitting fire now ignited, the memories of the years before haunt again.

You remember his saunter and the girls that followed in pursuit. You remembered the curve of his lips and the sharpness of his jawline. You remember the heaviness of your heart when you realised you did not exist to him.

And so, just like back then, you aim to continue your day without him.

But of course, he knows you know.

He does not see the desperation in your eyes, the facade of infatuation so many girls put on to please. He sees only humanity, the dying and dulled being thwarted by fate and abandoned by love. He knows you are different to the other girls that laugh and cry and smile to be with him, to continue a pretence they ignorantly believe is worth it.

He thinks that smile he saw was genunine and even now it is on his mind, and he hopes to see it again because he has known beauty and lust and attraction, but the personal eternity of yourself is something new that he cannot wait to delve into, to feast and experience.

You are in the locker room, where your shoes are tucked away in one of the many lockers stacked onto each other in rows that never ended. You only have one club, one club to please your makers and the helpless gaze of your parents, to please the empty and blank university form that sits in the teacher's drawer.

As you walk, no sound is made. You enjoy the silence, finding it riveting as you made your way along, pulling your socks on.

Just as you reach your locker, you see him.

He is standing by his own, having opened it. And then it hits you what he is holding in his hands. Love letters. It was no surprise, considering that the shoe lockers were the easiest place for secret admirers and other fantastical ideologies of the concept of love that you again could not fathom because you were inexperienced.

You peer from the side, somehow secrecy unfolds. You watch him, not like a predator to a prey, but like a feline carrying curiosity about her wits.

The letters in his hand are small and carmine and burgundy and fuchsia, some even the lightest pink to present a light and lovely affection. There's something forming in your heart and you dislike whatever it is. It only increases the more you stare.

His eyes rove over them, every now and then he smiles but he falters. Eventually, he carries them back to the bin in the corner, nonchalantly emptying his locker of the handwritten and carefully crafted things.

Taking the chance, you sneak past to open your locker and pull out your shoes, but he knew you were there from the beginning, you see.

"(first name)?" He calls out. "(first name), I know you're there." His voice is laced with light-heartedness and he laughs lightly when he sees you nervously poke your head around to face him once more.

He closes his locker, slinging his back over his shoulder and edging nearer. You almost want to back away but you stay put. You're allured by his presence yet confused by it.

He smirks, "Saw my fangirls' letters?"

You blink, rationality being thrown out of the window as you thought. Eventually, you nod. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

He takes a step closer, "Your name isn't on any of them, you know."

"W-Well," You gulp. You pause. It's the first time you're speaking to him. "Love letters cannot hold the same level of affection as other actions."

He smiles, "So you like me, (first name)?"

You turn furiously red and begin to sprint away. He is faster however, athletiscm blessed him with speed and accuracy. You feel his finger gently tug at your wrist and you turn to face him.

"Why don't you write me a love letter, (first name)?" He asks, meeting your eyes. You like this childishness secretly but can you afford to reveal your emotions so early?

You bite your lip, "Would you even read it? How different would it be to all the others?"

You close your eyes briefly to remember the void of existence and yourself as the minsicule dot that floats within, pathless and without end. Trapped and yet boundaryless.

He likes your questions in return. You are different to all the girls that chase him, chase him because it is the only thing they can do. You do not chase him because you understand.

"It would be coming from you, (first name)." Your name is growing on him more and more. He likes the way it rolls off his tongue, how smooth it is like silk. He can imagine saying it for hours on end.

You sigh and then laugh nervously. Uncertainty fills your devote and empty void and as you try to move away, he comes closer again. Closer. And closer. Until you feel his breath touch your cheeks and your stomach is churning with butterflies at the intimacy you have never experienced. He knows this intimacy well, however, and he nagivates it with you as he slowly places your hands on his back, and his own wrap around your waist.

He can feel your shaky breaths and trembling body and briefly wonders how inexperienced you are. But he looks once more at the infatuation within your eyes and leans in, his lips crashing onto yours.


	4. idea

His kiss is not at all the same as those movie stars, but one steeped in a passion that ignites. It is the promise of realness, of the primal desire that lives in us all. And with it he tells you that he is awake, connected within, that he embraces himself rather than hide as a copy of those romantic idols.

He had kissed you and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand had rested below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as breaths mingled. You had ran your fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you two and you could feel the beating of his heart against your chest.

When you two parted, he smiles once more and the surreal experience shatters the mirrors of your life. He slowly untangles himself from you, leaving you to reel over what had just happened. He looks as you with a facade that only now you just realised was always there. Your hands immediately go to touch your salivated lips and you watch as he picks up his bag as though nothing had occurred and smiled.

You feel a choking sensation engulf you and your mind is fragmented. The kiss was meant to entwine you together, yet as you look up at the ceiling to picture Fate crowing above, you realise that it was an awakening.

He leaves you standing in the rows of lockers, and his eyes are indifferent as he walks away. You look down at your hands in wondering, the wavering sadness too much for you.

And then, as the night falls and the stars blink in and out of existence, it dawns on you. Oikawa Tooru was never in love with you.  
  
  


He is and was only ever in love with the **_idea_ **of being loved by you.

So close to real love yet so far away...


	5. real

There is something about him that emphatically draws you in, and you are half way into the third year when your heart pines again and you feel yourself losing a battle.

You remember it still.

The quick glances at each other within the classroom. The blush that crept up onto your cheeks when you felt those sweet chocolate eyes look at you and you alone. The shakiness of your breath when the intimacy between you had reached a climax.

The moment he walked away from you, still smiling from your innocence, it had dawned that his facade was not something you could break with the strength of your infatuation alone. The girls before you could not peel back the layers of this false god, so why would it be any different for you?

You realise this now. Ignorance paid it's price, with your lips forever craving the sensational touch of his own, and your eyes tearing up at the mangled concept of love.

Your friends knew this all along, the faults of him and his alluring nature. You are still with them, despite the distance between you. Can you even call them your friends anymore? They knew his touch too. In fact, it seemed almost every girl had.

And as you walk down the corridor quietly, your eyes staring at meaningless words on a page yet drifting past them into deep thought, you understand this lesson too late. He was keen to earn your affection, to steal it and polish it and hang it upon his decorated hall, just to keep smiling.

But what he didn't realise was that you truly were different.

And even now, six months after the damage is done, he starts to understand that it was a fatal mistake to mislead you like that.

You pass him in the corridor and bury your head even further, but it is no use. He knows you now. He recognises the softness of your hair and the sadness within your eyes.

"(first name)?" He calls out with a smile, seeing as he is with his friends.

You don't know how to feel about that smile now. Especially since you think it is fake. But you don't realise that the smile is real. That smile is trying to break the facade he always seems to wear.

Your ears perk up at the sound of your name, especially when he says it so smoothly, and you scurry away, fortunate enough that the corridor was crowded from the ending of several lessons.

He loses you in the crowd and influx of students, the noise of their bickering and chattering filling the empty space between you. He stands in his place momentarily, an uncertain expression resting on his face. And then he hears his girlfriend calling him and he turns, returning to his life.

─────

You see him and her together and your heart aches once more. They are in the cafeteria, where the sound of students smothers you and makes your stomach churn in anxiety. There is no silence to comfort you.

Your friends see your anguish, the way your sulky eyes turn over the pages of your book without emotion. The untouched food resting on your plastic tray. They fail to see the depth of your emotion, the sadness that overcame you when the truth of love was revealed, like peeling back layers.

He laughs when she says something funny, and his lips curve upwards. He bops her nose lightly with his index finger, enjoying how she scrunches up her face in amusement. And then, as though he knows that in the corner of your eyes your sight rests on him, he turns and faces you.

You cannot bring yourself to look away.

So you return his gaze.

And now, you see the sadness in his own eyes, when he realises how he treated you.

You look down now, resuming your gaze at your book, and you know your lesson now. You were just another girl in the line of those who fell for him.

But you see, you weren't.

You just never realised you were something more than you were told to be. You could have been that girl that was smiling and sitting next to him. 

If only he took back his mistake and experienced you for real.


End file.
